Page 54 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

She didn’t move.

Her chest didn’t rise.

I watched for it. Waited for some sign that I hadn’t gone as far as I thought I had.

Nothing.

I stood there, breathing hard, the skillet still in my hand.

My arm was shaking.

I set the skillet on the counter.

Stepped over Layla’s body like she was a piece of furniture.

Walked to the wine fridge and pulled out a bottle of pinot grigio—Amai’s favorite, the expensive kind he kept for special occasions.

I poured myself a glass.

Took a long, slow sip.

Then I turned back to the stove, where the food Layla had been cooking was still simmering.

Shrimp étouffée. Amai’s favorite.

I picked up the spatula, rinsed it off in the sink, and stirred the pot.

Added a little more seasoning.

Tasted it.

Perfect.

Behind me, Layla was still on the floor, unconscious, a thin line of blood trickling from her hairline onto the tile. She wasn’t breathing anymore.

I just kept cooking.

Kept sipping my wine.

Kept moving through the motions like nothing had happened.

Because if I stopped?—

If I let myselffeelwhat I’d just done?—

I’d fall apart completely.

And I couldn’t afford that.

Not now.

Not ever.

The wine was good. Expensive. The kind of wine that tasted like money and didn’t apologize for it. My type of shit. One thing I never had to compromise on being with Amai is the finer things in life. You represent him and Amai hates for his aesthetic to the world to be… subpar.

I took another sip and scrolled through Instagram without really seeing anything. Just needed something to do with my hands. Something to keep my mind from the body on the floor.

I didn’t look at it. Didn’t need to. I already knew what I’d done, and I was barely keeping the nausea at bay.